Aftermath: Life goes on
by juliasejanus
Summary: Sequel to the oneshot Aftermath. A fourteen year old boy, forced into working for MI6, saved the lives of eight boys, with very rich fathers. Tom, Joe, Paul, Cassian, James, Nicholas, Dimitry and Hugo got to live, grow up and prosper due to the actions of that boy blackmailed to work for MI6. True friends were made during Alex's short excursion to France.
1. Chapter 1

Tom was fixing the fuse box at least this was not just another boring job. This afternoon he was half working and half girl watching as he was currently employed at Models Inc, a top modelling agency on Shaftesbury Avenue. He was a fully accredited electrician working for his cousin. He had left school at 16 and apprenticed with Matthew Harris, a man with a client base across Chelsea, Kensington, Westminster and the West End. Tom liked the work and earned enough to have moved out and rent a flat in Putney. Glad to have left his warring parents behind.

A tall dark haired woman dressed in a smart dark blue suit stopped and stared at the dark haired technician in dark blue overalls. "Tom? Tom Harris? Remember me... Sabina Pleasure." The woman smiled broadly at seeing an old friend.

"Sab? How could I forget Alex's girlfriend? How is Al? Back over here with you or still in California?"

The smile was wiped from the woman's face and replaced by a mix of unease and guilt. "Alex.. well, he came back to London last year, after he graduated High School just after his seventeenth birthday. He... well, he only lived with us for three months, then went to some military academy I think. He emancipated himself at sixteen. We did not keep in touch."

Tom rubbed his neck nervously. After a couple of emails exchanged after Jack's death, the close friendship between the two ex-Brookland boys fizzled out. Tom had found new friends at the Chelsea Academy. "Same with me. I lost touch after I moved schools. Any idea where he's living?"

"James Sprintz might know. Alex talked to him a lot when he still lived with us. Apart from that I have no idea." Sabina had never met the strange German boy. She sometimes wondered why Alex had remained friends with a boy living in Dusseldorf and not with her. Their once close friendship had grown glacial over his strange behaviour after Cairo. In hindsight it was mostly her lack of empathy. She had friends in Palo Alto, it wasn't her fault Alex was a loner.

"Right, I met him I think just before Alex when on holiday with you lot in Scotland in December 2001. Didn't talk much. Strange Alex said he had a wicked sense of humour."

Sabina's smile returned, "It was great to catch up. See you around." She then turned to continue to her appointment with her agent. She modelled part time to support her education at Oxford. Just occasional shoots, not to disrupt lectures. She had started modelling during her senior year at High School, helped buy the fact she was dating a daring and popular young Photographer, one she had met in San Francisco. With practiced ease, she put all thoughts of Alex to the back of her mind. She had not even said goodbye to him before he'd left for the Treatment Facility at Blue Lake. Sabina had thought he'd return after six months getting his head shrunk, only he hadn't. She had not even tried to keep in touch.

...

After another call out, Tom arrived at his studio flat. It was a typical bachelor pad, no frills just practical minimalism. Unlike most evenings, which the exhausted teen spent vegging out, he did not turn on the TV, but booted up his laptop. After a cup of tea and a round of toast, he googled James Sprintz. He got a series of links to European Gossip Magazines. It seemed that Alex's strange friend was dating an actress, five years older than him, Sylvie De Concorde. The pair lived together in Paris. The magazines stated the dark haired bad boy was studying finance and taking after his billionaire father. A couple more google articles and Tom found that his father was a reclusive bond trader, who had been married to the Blythe McCudden, a woman still making adverts, on magazine covers, the occasional film part and TV appearances, strikingly beautiful at the age of forty plus. So strange James had a really famous mum and a really rich dad. Tom thought back to Alex talking of a school in France. The details Tom remembered were the creepy other kids, the SAS and a ski chase. It was where Alex met James. On about the fiftieth photo was a picture of James' 18th birthday party. Tom recognized in the far left of the shot the blurred profile of Alex next to a dark haired boy, listed as Paul Roscoe. After two hours searching, Tom was no nearer to an address for Alex, James or this Paul Roscoe.

The search on Paul Roscoe was enlightening. In April 2001, Michael Roscoe had been murdered. A teenager had been convicted of second degree murder and was serving a forty year sentence, no parole. Paul, the only child of the founder of Roscoe Electronics, was worth circa 500 million. All the photos published showed the kid with four or five burly bodyguards. The most recent news article was in a Gaming Magazine of all places. It stated he was living in London, not in the fashionable West End but in Deptford. There was the base of Broken Mirror Games. The article stated the young rich New Yorker lived with his English boyfriend, Alex.

Bingo, with a business name Tom could find out where in Deptford, young millionaires hung out. It was with his quest completed, he pondered on the last bit of information. Alex was gay and had a boyfriend. Sabina had not told him that. The again, Alex had fallen out with the Pleasures within three months of Jack dying. What had happened? That was about the same time Tom had stopped communicating with his former best friend. His only excuse that a five thousand mile separation was the cause, but more likely it was Alex's emails that he was fine, when obviously he wasn't.

Tom decided that on Saturday morning, he take his chances on a visit to the East End.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a trek to find Empire Road, located south of Surrey Docks, but luckily there were only five properties still standing in a sea of building sites, making his task of tracking down No. 85 all the easier. The former garage had a high wall and a gated intercom with cool graphic sign stating this was the premises of Broken Mirror Games.

Tom Harris pressed the buzzer and waited until a very American voice answered "What's up?"

"Is Alex Rider there? My name is Tom Harris. Alex and I are old school mates, I was hoping to catch up"

There was a pause... "Come on in"

Tom went through to the plain brick building and the side entrance marked as Reception. The door opened to reveal a tall, white blond, very freckled man. "Morning Tom Harris, welcome to Broken Mirror, I'm Paul Roscoe the MD. Alex is on the phone. Should be finished soon. Have a seat... can I get ya a coffee or some poncey English tea. I think Lexie has several different types. Since I'm playing hostess here, I'd stick to coffee, OK."

"OK, Paul, thanks I take mine white with one sugar."

The cheerful man came back with mugs of steaming coffee, which filled the colourfil open reception area with its rich dark aroma. Tom looked at the American closely. Expensive clothes, all designer casual, only Tom was sure the Paul Roscoe he saw during his Internet search had dark hair, when this guy was an obvious natural blond with pale eyelashes and eyebrows.

"Err didn't you have dark hair at James Sprintz's birthday party?"

"Oh right, well all of us guys from Point Blanc turned up as James' lookalikes. We all dressed in the same clothes, wore contacts, wigs and make up. It was so rad seeing Jamie's utter disbelief we came as clones. Have to say Lexie looked fab, I don't think I suit the dark Italian look. I looked like a zombie with dark hair. At least Cassin talked me out of dyeing my hair." Paul made pleasant small talk with Alex's former BFF, as he knew exactly who Tom Harris was. The New Yorker had over the past two years become close to Alex as Alex knew him like no other. Both boys had travelled a similar road, casting off their old lives to start afresh. Paul had fought to become emancipated from his mother's custody siting irreconcilable differences, just as Alex emancipated himself from the Pleasure's and MI6's control. Both boys had managed their own education, stayed with friends, as Cassian's mother, Jill, Tom's grandmother, Cassie McMorin and General 'Mac' Canterbury, father of Joe had come up trumps to take in two boys, one as good as orphaned and one with no family whatsoever. Paul hated his mother with a passion for the mere fact she had accepted and loved the Grief clone; when his dad had known something was up and died because of his suspicions.

Alex left his office, after amending work schedules for the coming week. He was office manager, PA and gopher to the bunch of misfits working for Paul. It was up to him to arrange work schedules for the prima donna programmers. The work environment was very unothodox, with free thinking equalling a productive and creative programming. Three games due to launch in the next three months for both PC and gaming platforms. Alex , last year had been glad to liquidate the assets from Ian and John Rider for Paul's dream. Paul's trust fund maybe worth millions on paper, but it was all tied up in secure bonds and his father's company. He would only have control once he was twenty-five and only if he met the criteria of the trust members. The young man was driven to make his own name, the task easier with his silent partner, Alex.

Alex walked into the main work area, concentrating on his Palm TX. "Smithy can't come in until Wednesday, but said the glitches in Level Eleven should only take a couple of hours to fix. I have rescheduled Computer Gamer to do their interview on Monday and the guy from the Wall Street Journal is here on Tuesday afternoon. You need to approve the graphics for Dark Horizon and Cassian says the music is in its final edit and he will be here on Friday, so I thought maybe we should have a dinner party."

Alex looked up to see that Paul was not talking to Caleb or Bri but an older, taller and scruffier looking Tom Harris. "Hi, Tom... Sorry... Did you get that, boss?"

Paul smiled "Sure, honey. I think the idea of a dinner party is great. Maybe Tom can make it?"

"So, Alex, you're the secretary?"

Paul Roscoe laughed with a deep rumble, "Lexie is Mr. Organisation. He rules the roost here, no mistake. I'm just going to write some invites... see if James or Dieter can come. Catch up with Tom, beautiful. Lunch at Nicos, I think."

Alex rather than just sit down, went to the fridge at the open galley kitchen to get a glass of San Pellegrino. It had been over three years since the shooting incident at Brookland since the two boys had last laid eyes on each other. Not just time separated them. Alex was unsure if he wanted Tom back in his life. Over a year back in London and this was the first connection to Alex's old life, the nightmare of loss, hurt and betrayal in 2001 and 2002.

Tom looked at Alex, who was wearing Armani jeans with a pink Kylie T-shirt, that looked like it was a girls. This was not the boy who he knew back when they both lived in Chelsea. This was Paul's honey.

"So, its good to see you Alex. I... I'm sorry I lost touch, just living with Jerry after, you know the incident at school, I returned and made new friends at Chelsea College. Had a boring year, I got a job... I'm an electrician now." Tom rambled, shutting up at the hard look on Alex's face.

"Yeah, I know. Jerry answers his emails. You don't. He told me all the relevant details about you. I got an invite to his engagement party. So I would have seen you in Naples next month anyway. Luciana is an absolute love. I met her in Rome for lunch in May." Alex had planned on being flamboyantly out of character when he introduced Tom to his beau, Paul.

"I saw Sabina last week. It kind of acted as a catalyst to actually try and reconnect. Pax?" Tom put on his best puppy dog eyes, to plead forgiveness.

"That look did not work when you were a cute eleven year old. Its just pathetic now, Harris. Come on tell me how Miss Pleasure is faring. Edward says she's a impossible diva. All I can say is that she always was."


	3. Chapter 3

Paul knew his love's moods, even with the fact the ex-spy was adept at hiding his emotions. Alex was super tense, his anxiety showed in the fact he was sitting unnaturally still during the short taxi ride back from their lunch with Tom in Deptford. The brown eyed handsome guy, sat to his right, was deep in thought, his face was blank and calm, but there was a subtle tension around the eyes. Even after years of therapy, almost three and a half years since he had killed his evil Grief-twin, the mask of the trained professional operative was still there.

The American had observed Alex's old friend Tom Harris during the leisurely lunch and could see the similarities in looks and personality with Jerry, the older brother who had kept in touch with Alex and whom Paul had befriended after meeting the man that spring. Tom had faced the trauma of getting shot in 2002 and had moved on from his old school and old friends. Paul also knew Alex had been happy to allow Tom to back off in some fool attempt to protect Tom from MI6. He doubted Tom even knew how ill Alex had been after Jack's murder.

Paul got the impression that Tom did not do social media, as the guy played football, went to the pub and had a small group of contacts on his mobile. The South London boy was happy in his world of work related contacts and friends and was not even close to his parents or his brother. The extreme sportsman based in Italy posted regular blogs, had three Facebook pages and always answered his emails, texts and messages. Jerry made friends, lots of friends, and kept them. Tom was a natural loner. Paul wondered who his BFF was now. It wasn't Alex.

Not that Paul was complaining at his life with Alex. The two survivors of Grief's clones had clung to each other when they had met in the Fall of 2002 at Therapy Boot Camp in the Forests of Northern California. A lonely, paranoid and resentful Paul Roscoe had met a controlled, depressed and jumpy former spy and a great friendship and later partnership had formed. Paul replaced Tom as friend, confidant and life line, not to normal life but to the closest approximation that two broken teens could muster.

In September 2002, both boys had been attending the intensive counseling at the Centre at Blue Lake, California. The two barely knew each other after the closure of Point Blanc Academy. In California, they were in the same dorm and naturally teamed up. Paul had confessed in the first few weeks on group about his bad relationship with his mother had soured any thoughts of pursuing a relationship with any woman and that he was happier to date men. Alex's sexuality was more complicated. Sabina had been a cold callous bitch to the boy broken by the events in Cairo. It been after seven weeks of talk, talk and more talk that Alex had confessed to Paul during shared clean-up duty that he was not straight. The mess over his love hate relationship with Yassen's was spoken of on soft whispers, so no one else could overhear. It was after this, both fifteen year olds had started to plan for emancipation. Their shared goal of freedom from controlling and misguided guardians had drawn them closer. Paul had 'divorced' himself from his mother. A woman who had fully accepted the clone as her son. How he hated that woman for not knowing her own flesh and blood. Paul had a frosty relationship with his extended family, as they had not noticed that Grief Clone No. 2 was not him. They had preferred the neat, charming and perfect psychopath to the troubled truant. Not that he took drugs, stole things or partied, Paul had been bullied, bored and so very lonely at the Exclusive High School in Manhattan; rather than be unhappy he had just stopped going. That had got him a one way ticket to hell.

...

Alex thanked Mr Hussein, their regular driver with Tanners Hill Private Hire. It was easier to use a hired car and driver rather for than have the expense of car insurance for two drivers under twenty. On entering the large open space work and relaxation area, the tall blond went straight to the drink's fridge and pull out, uncorked the bottle of wine and poured two glasses of Sancerre. At moments like these, when Alex's emotions were threatening to disrupt his control, he really appreciated Paul, who instinctively knew not to push, to accept to his partner's silence and be OK with that. Paul was a patient man, one who observed and calculated. The only son of a billionaire played the Game of Life to win.

As he handed the glass to the burly, blond New Yorker, Alex motioned to the staircase with a short nod to the right.

Paul got that Alex never out right asked for sex. It was always through interpretation of small gestures. As the door to their upstairs apartment closed and locked Alex had strode straight through to the bedroom.

...

Alex was on the running machine, pushing himself hard as Paul worked with the programmer's finding and eradicating the glitches in the latest game in development. In truth, he was still miffed at Tom's attitude that his former best friend was gay. Seriously, teen super spy had to like girls.. he'd dated the gorgeous Sabina for God's sake. His relationship with the Ice Queen had never lit the fires of passion. She had proved to be a very fair weather friend, then again he had been a complete basket case back then.

Alex hated people questioning the one thing keeping him together. Only that was a half truth, Paul and Alex were keeping each other together. Hugo Grief's clones had destroyed both their lives, now they were building a home/work/quasi-family unit here in South-east London. Alex at eighteen had gone through the legacy left by John and Ian Rider to discover savings, shares and property portfolio including two cottages, one in Wales and one in Ireland; a farm in Brittany, the house in Chelsea and a garage in Deptford. The other properties were rented out, bringing in enough money for Alex to live quite comfortably. The Garage had been empty for two years and rather than move back to Chelsea, Alex had converted it into office and integrated apartment. The pair had lived in a static caravan while the builders had done the renovations, all under Alex's watchful eyes. Happy days living first in squalor as they had worked on first three games and made friends with Gina and Joe, the workaholic geniuses which made up the back bone of the programming team at Broken Mirror.

Alex knew this sunday would again be spent working, normally something he was happy to do. Set in a routine of keeping close to Paul, never stretching boundaries or going anywhere alone. Most of their shopping was done on the internet and delivered. They only saw sunshine on their quarterly holidays either skiing or on the beach. After a quick shower, the tall blond dressed in his usual casual combo and put a note on the fridge that he was going to watch Tom play football.

In the eighteen months back in London, Alex had not been back to Chelsea. A rental management company looked after Ian's house and he did not want to visit his uncles grave. He still could not forgive Ian for leaving his guardianship to that bastard Blunt. It had been Ian's callous masterplan that had forced Alex to be a spy and that legacy alone had caused all the death, destruction and heartache. Rather than a taxi, Alex took the tube to Vauxhall and then Walked to Battersea Park to see the Sunday League teams fight it out. Tom stated he played for the Rose and Crown Team. Not quite the professional glory the pair had dreamed of when playing for Brookland. Alex had not played football since his run in with Desmond McCain. In the States, he's stuck to Track and Field, Basketball and Softball. He did not even watch footy on telly. The stint at Military Academy courtesy of the scholarship arranged by Colonel Canterbury, had knocked his bad habits on the head for the agoraphobic teen. No staying in bed watching bad American TV for 20 hours a day. The Point Blanc Network of rich, super rich and very successful parents had seen the newly emancipated but broke Alex through until he could claim his inheritance at 18. He had worked hard and only got into a moderate amount of trouble, never looking for fights, just standing his ground when threatened. He had to admit being in therapy and very open about having a boyfriend had made him a target for hazing at Gresham Academy. Not that the impression of a soft target lasted long. Only one git had persisted until Paul had hacked the guys email and social media accounts. Poor Greg had gotten kicked out of school after that.

...

Tom saw the lone figure standing apart from the usual small crowd of spectators. Alex was wearing an expensive looking reefer jacket, accompanied by a very colourful scarf. Tom went over to his oldest friend after the final whistle blew.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Alex. Fancy playing for this useless bunch, you might help us win a few games?"

Alex smiled and shook his head "and get filthy, no thanks. I prefer working out in a warm and dry gym. The cold makes my ankle ache like a bitch; so sorry, no Sunday League for me."

"Still go to see Chelsea play, then?" Tom had talked a lot yesterday, so had Paul, but Alex had not really said very much about himself, kept the conversation to business and work mostly.

"No... not even on TV." Alex sniffed and Tom got the hint.

"I'll be back out in ten/fifteen minutes, clean and nice smelling. we can go have a few jars at Flangans, maybe some lunch."

...

Mark Brewster had known Tom for three years and was curious at the neat and well dressed stranger. "Who's that, your boyfriend?"

"Not my boyfriend... though he is gay. Alex was my best friend when I went to Brookland. He went to live in California in 2002 and we lost touch. Just found out he's back in London, living with his boyfriend in Deptford. You may not like nancy boys, but a word of warning don't start anything with Al, he's a black belt in karate."

"Can he play football? We need a decent striker."

"I already asked. He broke ankle badly when he was fifteen. Stopped him playing. He was bloody good. Last time Brookland won the schools championship was when we both played."

"And now you hang out with us losers. You coming back to the Rose?"

"No, I'm going to Flanagans with Alex. So, I'll see you guys for training on Tuesday night."

"Does his boyfriend play football?"

"Good God, Markie, you are desperate. Paul is a techno nerd." Tom had to admit, Paul was no weedy geek. The guy looked like a rugby player. The Londoner then tried not to think about the dynamics of Alex and Paul. He had never twigged Alex as swinging that way. He then decided just to think of them as flatmates and keep his mind out of the gutter. He did not want to know any details. He would work to be a friend to Alex and get to know Paul. It was a good sign that Alex was here today. Propbaly to clear the air over what was not discussed yesterday. Tom only knew the bare details of what had happened to Alex after the incident at Brookland. Jack had died, Alex had left. They had lots to discuss, but Tom was going to let Alex talk and not do his usual of dominating the conversation.


End file.
